Forgotten Dreams (27 page)
For some reason, this was more than Lottie could take. She wrenched herself out of his arms and shouted at him at the top of her voice. ‘You can talk! Why’s you here, Basil O’Mara, if it ain’t for a dirty weekend? Just you let me alone and get back to Merle before I set that octopus on you.’
Baz grabbed her again and began to shake her and, to her immense relief, Lottie awoke to find herself safe in her own small bed, with Merle bending over her.
‘Wake up, queen! Wharrever is the matter? You were havin’ a fearful dream . . . more like a nightmare, I reckon . . . and the church clock just struck nine, so if we don’t get down smartish we won’t have time to grab ourselves some breakfast.’
Lottie sat up. She was trembling and soaked with sweat. She began to tell Merle about the awfulness of her nightmare, then stopped short, having reached the point where she had struggled out of the sea to find herself apparently transported on to Blackpool beach. She realised she could not possibly tell Merle any more, and also knew that she was going to find it hard to look Baz in the eye when they next met.
‘Go on, what happened then?’ Merle enquired, clearly intrigued. ‘I wonder why the octopus ate your dress, though? Ain’t dreams the oddest things?’
Lottie shuddered. ‘That wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare,’ she said, stripping off her damp nightgown and going over to the washstand. She began to wash vigorously, glad for once of the cold water on her hot skin. She glanced at Merle over her shoulder. ‘Look, Merle, you’re fully dressed. Go down and tell Mrs Shilling I won’t be five minutes.’
‘OK,’ Merle said airily, banging her way out of the room. She had left the door ajar and Lottie heard her footsteps clattering down the two flights with some satisfaction. If Merle really had dreamed of Baz, she either had forgotten it on waking, or intended to keep it to herself. That meant that Lottie had time to mull over both the nightmare and the absence of her own special dream, which she had been so confident would come to her because she had seen the boy in real life.
Cleaning her teeth vigorously, she decided the nightmare had been at least partly her own fault. She remembered thinking as she got into bed that, far from dreaming about Baz, Merle would probably find herself in the arms of an octopus, so that was one puzzle solved. The other, equally strange until you thought about it, was the octopus attacking her crinoline; but she had imagined that a whale might devour Merle’s best dress, and since she had thought it just as she got into bed, sea creatures eating dresses must have been very much on her mind. Then, earlier in the evening, Merle had talked about taking Baz off for a weekend in Blackpool . . . and there you were! Dream interpretation, Lottie decided, was simply a matter of common sense. But she would be very careful, in future, to think calming and pleasant thoughts right up to the moment of falling asleep.
By the time she had reached this conclusion, she was fully dressed except for her shoes. Usually, she made her bed and tidied the room before leaving it, but decided that it would have to wait until she returned later today. Why not? Neither Mrs Shilling nor Louella ever climbed up the last flight of stairs to the attic bedrooms. And besides, if she lingered, she could miss her breakfast. Taking her shoes in one hand Lottie stole out of the room, closed the door quietly behind her and tiptoed down the stairs. How different I am from Merle, she thought rather smugly. The older girl had clattered down the stairs, never sparing a thought for others who might still be trying to sleep. But that was Merle all over. The older girl didn’t mean to be selfish or thoughtless and if, later, Louella or Max reproached her for her noisy descent, she would be truly sorry. But it would not occur to her to go quietly unless someone specifically suggested it.
The girls had decided to spend the morning on the beach. Lottie wondered whether Merle would make some excuse, but by half past ten the chilly wind had dropped and though Merle shivered and grumbled, she consented to share a changing tent with Lottie and the two of them put on their costumes.
Merle refused to go in further than her knees, then retreated up the beach when Lottie went in deeper. The water was not as cold as she had feared it might be, and when Merle came down to the edge of the waves to implore her to come out because she was growing bored and cold sitting alone on the sand, she refused to do so. Why should her pleasure be spoiled because Merle was a water funk?
Lottie swam, and then, to her delight, she saw a familiar figure coming jauntily across the sand. It was Jack, wearing the blue swimming costume which reached to his knees, with a gaily coloured towel draped round his neck. She splashed happily out of the sea and grabbed his arm. Jack gave a start of surprise, but Lottie was pretty sure that this was put on. ‘Hello, enjoyin’ a dip?’ Jack said breezily. ‘Thought I’d pop along and have a swim since the weather’s turned out fine.’ He unslung the towel from his neck and wrapped it swiftly round Lottie’s shoulders. ‘You’re shivering, young lady.’ He sat down on the sand and pulled her down beside him. Gazing out to sea, he said reflectively: ‘I got the impression yesterday that there were a certain coolness between our Baz and young Merle. In fact, I thought he’d give up on her an’ taken up wi’ your delightful self, but it seems I was wrong.’ He cocked an eyebrow at her, then began vigorously rubbing the towel across her back and shoulders. ‘Was I right? About yesterday I mean.’
Lottie heaved a tremulous sigh, suddenly realising how nice it would be to confide in Jack. She had always liked him and trusted him, and now it occurred to her that he had probably come down to the beach actually wanting a word with her. ‘Yes, you were right. Baz caught Merle kissing that feller, Jerry Green, that she’s been going around with. He was really cross, and wouldn’t listen to her explaining that Jerry was just a friend. But he didn’t really take up with me, as you put it; in fact I suppose you could say he just used me to annoy Merle and keep her at arm’s length.’
Jack pulled a face. ‘It’s mebbe not a nice way to behave but young fellers in love don’t always act the way they should,’ he said rather obscurely. He gave the towel a final rub. ‘Are you warmer now? Feel like comin’ in the sea again?’
‘Yes, I’d love to swim a bit more, only I promised Louella I’d never go out of my depth when I was alone,’ Lottie said at once. ‘You are kind, Jack. I was feeling pretty miserable until you came along. You see, Baz and me were pretty good pals until Merle arrived, and then he went with her, and my friend Kenny has gone off girls altogether . . .’
‘It happens, queen,’ Jack said comfortably as they began to wade into the sea. ‘But don’t you worry about it. If Kenny’s the one I think he is he’s too young for you, and Baz ain’t your type, no matter what you may have thought. You’re pretty as a picture, sweet as sugar candy, and bright as a button. If Baz prefers Merle it’s because they’re two of a kind, and you’re in a different league.’
‘I’m not, but I’m beginning to feel left out and lonely,’ Lottie said dolefully. ‘Even my pal Angela has left Yarmouth now, and Jerry – well, he really is Merle’s friend, you know.’
‘Oh aye. But there’s a feller for you out there somewhere,’ Jack assured her. ‘And he’s a corker, I bet. So let’s make the most of today’s swim – beat you to the end of the pier and back!’
Presently, feeling very much better for both the exercise and Jack’s words, Lottie panted up the beach and joined Merle in the changing tent.
In the warm little space Lottie dried and changed, then plaited Merle’s hair, knowing that she was making a poor job of it, but feeling there was little she could do to improve her work. Merle had no brush or comb with her so Lottie simply did the best she could. When she had finished she flicked the thick and heavy plait over Merle’s shoulder, tidied her own hair with her hands, and followed Merle out of the tent, towels and swimsuits wrapped into a ball and pushed into the string bag in which she always carried her bathing things. They found Jack, who had set up an old ginger beer bottle as a target and was chucking stones at it, awarding himself points for a direct hit. He got to his feet as the girls approached and Merle, good humour apparently restored, beamed at him. ‘Well, I declare, the sea isn’t so bad after all! Why don’t you go down to the pleasure beach and have a go on the rides? Lottie and I want to take a look at the shops after some grub, and you’d find it boring, I dare say.’
Lottie felt her cheeks begin to burn; how could Merle be so rude to Jack? She said, stiffly, that she hated shopping, but Jack, it seemed, was equal to anything. ‘You don’t want to be saddled with an old feller like me, so if you want me to make meself scarce I’ll leave the two of you to your lunch,’ he said, and for the first time it struck Lottie that Jack was really not old. He might be about the same age as Louella, and her mother certainly did not consider herself as anything but young and beautiful. She opened her mouth to say something cutting to Merle, but Jack spoke once more. ‘Tell you what, we’ll have fish and chips at that place in Regent Road, then go our separate ways,’ he said.
After the meal, Merle disappeared towards the shops, leaving Lottie – who had refused to accompany her – and Jack to amuse themselves until the show started. They decided to walk all the way along the prom until they reached the mouth of the Yare. There, they sat on a bench and Jack expanded on his earlier theme. ‘I suspect you’ve been unhappy because you think Baz has treated you badly, which, o’ course, hurts like hell. But, as I said earlier, one of these days you’ll meet someone special, and you’ll understand why young Baz – and Merle for that matter – have behaved so shabby towards you.’
Lottie sniffed dolefully and knuckled her eyes, for Jack’s kind words had made her see what she had always known really: that she had lost Baz. ‘How do you know, Jack?’ she asked, as soon as her voice could be relied upon. ‘Have you ever liked someone who pretended to like you back, only they didn’t?’
‘Yup!’ Jack said briefly. ‘You can’t reach my age without fallin’ in love at least a dozen times. But it’s true what they say: time’s a great healer. And now let’s walk up to the harbour, see what vessels are in dock, and then I’ll buy you tea at a posh hotel. Make you feel like you’re a real lady!’
Chapter TenIt was a rainy day, but the strong wind which had been blowing off the Mersey had dropped, so Lottie, setting out for the theatre – for there was an afternoon casting meeting today – had been able to erect her umbrella without fear of its blowing inside out. She trotted along the pavement, dodging the puddles and apologising every time she hit someone with her umbrella, for it actually belonged to Max and was a good deal larger than her own brolly. When she had gone to the stand in the hall, however, hers had been missing and she guessed that Merle had taken it, for her friend had left the house earlier that morning in order to go and see Baz at Lime Street station during his lunch break.
Despite Lottie’s fears, the Laceys, Merle, Max and Jack had settled back happily into life at the Gaiety. Their summer replacements had left as soon as the Yarmouth group returned, and apart from anything else, rehearsals for the pantomime, which would start in early December, had meant that everyone was far too busy for any but fleeting regrets over their lost seaside paradise.
The weather, furthermore, had worsened as October advanced. Strong winds tore the leaves from the trees, rain gusted sideways along the Scotland Road, and when Louella had said, with some satisfaction, that the thought of the east coast in such weather chilled her to the marrow of her bones, Lottie could only agree. Even in summer the draughts in the Wellington Pier theatre had been notorious and though, in Lottie’s experience, the Gaiety would become pretty chilly as winter advanced, she was glad not to have to suffer the buffeting wind and the occasional soakings of sea spray which the Wellington Pier theatre staff had assured her were a regular feature of the place in winter.
Mrs Brocklehurst had cleaned No. 2 Victoria Court until it shone from attic to cellar, and to Lottie’s astonishment and delight Kenny had told her, the very first time he set eyes on her, that he was downright glad to see her back. ‘I missed you, honest to God I did,’ he had said, and Lottie forgave him for sounding so surprised. ‘I still muck around with me mates, of course, but most of us have got jobs of sorts, and fellers . . . oh, I dunno, but I’ve missed you anyhow.’
‘I missed you as well,’ Lottie had said, somewhat untruthfully. They had been sitting on Mrs Brocklehurst’s beautifully whitened steps, catching up on each other’s news, and she beamed at her old friend, thinking back with pleasure to her lovely summer by the sea. ‘But Yarmouth was marvellous, honestly it was. We’re going back next year, at least I hope we are. But tell me about your new job, Kenny. Fancy you gettin’ one, with the Depression an’ all.’
‘I’m what they calls a “gofer” at one of the warehouses down on Canning Place,’ Kenny had said, his expression lightening a little. ‘It’s heavy work but I like it. The man I work for, Mr Ridley, is fair and don’t give me more work than I can cope with. And the hours ain’t too bad; I start at eight and finish at six, wi’ half an hour off for me dinner. Sometimes, if the work’s slow, Mr Ridley tells me to take an hour so’s I can have a look at the shops an’ that.’
‘It sounds all right,’ Lottie had said, trying to infuse her voice with enthusiasm. ‘But what exactly does a gofer do?’
‘Goes for anything his boss might need, I reckon,’ Kenny had said. He warmed to his theme. ‘See, the most important thing in the warehouse is gettin’ the goods stacked so’s you can find them again, and not leaving gaps, because, as Mr Ridley says, every gap is money lost.’
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